Life Lines
by madame.alexandra
Summary: Han and Leia learn some things about each other. H/L, OT era.


a/n: nondescript story at a nondescript base during a nondescript time. it's very nondescript, okay?

* * *

 _Life Lines_

* * *

There was a knock at her bunk room door, and as the knocking had started after her failure to answer two rings of the chimes, she had an idea of who was there. Any member of the High Command would page her comlink if they needed her assistance, or to see if she was available before an impromptu visit. Luke, one of the few who paid her personal calls, would go away if he received no answer after the first ring - he was either gullible enough to assume it meant she wasn't in the room, or polite enough to realize it indicated she did not want visitors.

She listened to the knock with a baleful look, her eyes fixed on the tightly closed door. Her head rested on her palm, elbow digging into the unforgiving hard surface of the nondescript desk that had come with the room. Everything in her quarters was nondescript - the bunk, the 'fresher, the towels, the small rug. All of it was military issue, neat, clean, and unremarkable. Leia had no complaints about the lack of decor or comfort. She hardly would have noticed if she were living in some sort of mud hut in the wild reaches of some desert planet - even could have made the most of that situation, if she still had Alderaan to go back to.

 _Knock, knock._

Leia sighed without making a sound, turning her head and pressing her face into her palm. She willed him away silently - was her silence not enough of an answer.

"Leia, I know you're in there," Han called finally - she could hear the stubbornness in his voice. "There's nowhere else for you to be."

He had a fair point. The entire base was gathered in what served as their social hall, and one check to the command center would clearly reveal that she wasn't on shift. She rubbed her forehead hard, and lowered her hand, lifting her head a little. She wiped her cheeks and then curled her hand into a fist, resting it stiffly under her chin.

"Go away," she muttered under her breath, certainly not loud enough to be heard through the door.

It was an unconvincing command, and since he couldn't even hear it, unlikely to deter him - though silence did go on for quite a long pause, leading her to turn her head a little, thinking he might have given up. She lifted her brows slightly - and then he knocked again and strangely, she almost laughed. Not quite able to express that much good cheer in her current - persistent - state of numbness, she smiled a little wistfully. She was conflicted with a desire to be alone and a desperate fear of being alone for the rest of her life, and she never knew how to handle it. Usually, she worked - but this evening, there was no work.

 _Knock, knock._

"Will you open the door so I can see you're not dead?"

Leia laid her hand on the desk and looked at the lines on her palm - _life lines_ , her mother used to call them; _they tell stories,_ she'd tease with a wink. Leia reached over and traced the meaningless lines. She made a fist - _life lines_ , she thought bitterly; why hadn't hers warned her of the devastation that was in store for her?

She got up and went to the door, sliding her hand over the reader. She stepped back, let it slide open fluidly, and stood framed within the doorway, looking at Han wordlessly. She lifted one shoulder dramatically as if to say - _look, I'm alive_ \- and then turned on her heel, and walked back to her chair. Instead of taking a seat, she turned, and leaned against the edge of the desk, perching on it, her eyes cast down to the floor. She wondered if he'd notice she'd been crying.

Han did not enter the room; in fact, he seemed frozen in the doorway, unsure how to react to her silent greeting. She saw him moving out of her periphery, but he stayed outside the threshold.

"Well, okay," he said slowly. "Not dead," he decided.

Leia looked up, tossing her head back. She set her shoulders and stared at him, finally speaking.

"What would lead you to think I was dead?"

Han shrugged at her. Raised his arm, leaned against the door frame.

"Dunno, probably because when there's events you usually show up and pretend to be alright for a while before you slink away," he said.

Leia gave him a sharp look.

"'Sides, it's a weird thing for you to skip," he said. "Luke's your best friend."

The words felt like a slap in the face, though that was no fault of Luke's. It was just that - when she thought of her best friend, she still thought of, of -

"My best friend is dead," Leia said shortly.

Han didn't say anything for a minute.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

Leia rubbed one of her ankles against the other, staring at him in the doorway.

"Yes," she said.

She looked down at her hands again while he moved forward, rubbing her thumb in a circle in the center of one palm. She heard Han shut the door, and she supposed that didn't bother her - she trusted Han enough. She didn't particularly care if there were rumors, either; there were already rumors, and she wasn't entirely sure how her habit of publicly insulting, castigating, and rejecting Han had led some to believe she was having an affair with him.

She reached up and wiped her face again, rubbing her palm a little harder.

"You okay?" Han ventured.

"Hmm," Leia hummed, looking up. "Nope," she said crisply, her emphatic pronunciation making the word end with a pop of her lips, and a sharp, narrow glare in her red eyes.

"What's wrong?" Han asked. He folded his arms. "'Sides the obvious."

Leia compressed her lips tightly.

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm nosy," Han retorted. He frowned. "'Cause Luke's my friend, even if he ain't yours, and he was worried about you, and kinda wanted you around tonight," he explained.

"Why isn't it Luke at my door?"

"'Cause," Han said again, impatient, "he thought you might not want to be bothered."

Leia popped her eyebrows up pointedly.

"'Course, I'm me, so I ignore your _cues,"_ he said, an then flashed her a quick grin. "Only 'cause I know you want me to."

Leia folded her arms loosely, and sat back further on the desk, one of her legs rising off the floor. Her foot dangled, and she swung it back and forth subtly, looking down at it, before looking up at him.

"Why don't you wanna be at Luke's birthday party?" Han pressed. "You pissed at him?"

Leia let out a breath. She shook her head, her eyes softening.

"No," she murmured. "Has Luke ever pissed anyone off?" she asked.

"Pisses me off all the time," Han said bluntly. "He's _too_ nice."

She smiled a little. Han tilted his head.

"So?" he asked. "What's your problem?"

Leia bristled, but didn't say anything immediately. She clenched her teeth, annoyed at his tone, but inexplicably grateful for it. She liked Han's irreverence; she would have liked it even in the old days - as she now had to refer to them - in the palace, with her family; irreverence was indicative of honesty, in most cases, at least as she saw it, when assessing someone's intentions. She often had to separate sincerity from obsequious pandering, given her royal status, and never having any doubt about Han's intentions was...a relief.

She tilted her head far back, swallowing hard.

"It's, um," she said, speaking before she had decided to tell him - and then wondering, as she spoke, why she was telling him at all. "It's my birthday, too."

Han straightened his head, frowning. His brow furrowed.

"No," he said slowly. "'Cause they made an announcement about yours a couple weeks ago," he remembered, eyeing her warily. "Rieekan did a salute. I asked you if you were turning a hundred, remember?"

Leia snorted under her breath - yes; she remembered, Han's clever little jest about how she was wasting her youth, how she was an impossibly old soul who needed to lighten up - well, perhaps she had wasted her youth; there was certainly nothing to go back to, and nothing youthful or promising about the future now. It all looked dire, and bleak, and if she survived to see the end of this war, there'd be nothing to claim as a prize, anyway.

"I remember," she said crisply. "I also happen to know when my own birthday is."

Han stared at her, and just raised his eyebrows.

"What the hell'm I missin'?" he muttered.

She pursed her lips, pausing, to keep them from trembling.

"The date Carlist knows is the day Alderaan celebrated publicly, and the one that's on the adoptive version of my birth certificate," she told him. "It's a month before my birthday."

"Why'd your parents make up a second birthday?" Han asked.

"To protect my birth mother, I suppose," Leia murmured. "To spare her identity if someone went looking."

"Oh," said Han.

He frowned to himself, and then started to walk forward, his hands in his pockets. He stopped closer to her, looking at her intently, and then turned, leaning against the desk next to her.

"You know who she was?" he asked abruptly. "Your real mom?"

"Breha Organa was my real mother," Leia said quietly. She hesitated. "No, I don't know who the other woman was."

Han nodded.

"Uh," he said, wincing. "Sorry," he apologized, sensing he'd found a sore spot.

Leia shook her head, and shrugged. Other people were often unsure what terminology to use around the subject. She just corrected them where need be, and moved on.

"Well, guess everything I know about you is a lie," Han said dramatically, feigning shock.

"You don't know much about me."

"Yeah," Han agreed indignantly, "'cause you been _lying."_

She suppressed a tired smile at the circumlocution, and turned her head to look at him intently. He grinned at her.

"Are you still twenty?" he asked, lifting his hands from his pockets and folding his arms. "Or are you actually a hundred?" he added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Ninety-nine," Leia fired back curtly.

Han laughed.

"Y'know what we do on Corellia for the twentieth birthday?" he asked.

She blinked at him, waiting politely, and expectantly.

"Nothin'," Han said, anti-climactic.

Leia laughed quietly.

"Don't think Luke would mind sharin' his party," Han said. "'Sides, no one knows it's yours, too. You ain't gonna steal his spotlight."

She shook her head.

"It isn't that," she murmured.

Han watched her pointedly, waiting. Leia took a deep breath.

"My parents," she started, swallowing hard. "My parents and I," she started again, and stopped. She bit her lip, and looked up at the ceiling, opening her eyes wide. When she spoke again, her voice sounded faraway to her, it was steadier. "We used to celebrate this one privately. Only the three of us," she said, twitching her nose. She lowered her head, and brought her hand up to her face, pressing it against her lips. "It's hard, it's just hard," she said, closing her eyes. "It's a hard day."

She wiped her eyes tensely, pressing her lips together hard. She took several deep breaths through her nose, her shoulders tight, and looked away. Han watched her, alternating between staring at her profile, and staring down at his boots. He wasn't sure what to say, what he could offer her. She was twenty years old and been through more than could imagine - been through things that seemed to negate all the privilege she'd had in her youth, and that made his rough life thus far seem charmed.

Leia swallowed hard, sighing heavily, frustrated with her inability to stop crying, though appreciative that Han didn't seem to be acknowledging it.

"What was, um," she began, clearing her throat. "What was...the hardest day of, um - your life?" she asked, setting her shoulders back. She cleared her throat again, staring at her hands as if they had blood on them - only tears, still only tears, no matter how much she saw blood in them in her nightmares.

Han raised his eyebrows, turning his head to look at her intently. She looked back at him boldly, her eyes wet and red-rimmed, and her eyebrows up pointedly. He couldn't - look at that expression, having barged into her privacy in the first place - and not answer, not give her something. So, he shrugged, and ground his back teeth together before he answered.

"I guess when my ma died," he said gruffly. Leia looked at him, her eyes wide, and fixed on his. He nodded. "Yeah, she got some kinda flu. Jus' a flu, but it got in her lungs. Got infected. 'Cause we couldn't afford a clinic or anythin.' I tried stealin' somethin' to trade for meds, but I got busted, got tossed in the slammer overnight," he explained dully, "and...she died while I was in there."

Leia's lips parted.

"How old were you?" she asked softly.

"Seven," Han grunted uncertainly. "Eight? One of those."

Leia put her hand to her neck, brushing her knuckles under her chin. Her eyes fluttered faintly.

"But - a child was placed in prison, for trying to help his mother?" she murmured, her voice strained. "That's not civilized."

Han shrugged.

"Mos' people don't think slums are civilized," he muttered. "The street cops, they figure, if you live there, it's cause you fucked up, you got poor 'cause of your own choices, so you must be a criminal anyway. Doesn't matter if you're a kid. You're a bad kid."

Leia dug her teeth into her bottom lip, pressing her mouth shut. She reached over and brushed her knuckles up and down his shoulder, and then inched closer, resting her forehead where her hand had been. She sighed, rubbing her nose against him gently, her lips parting - almost in a kiss, more of a sigh, but whatever it was, Han felt it down to the bone, and stayed still, tilting his head back. Leia reached down and touched his wrist, then his palm, her hand sliding into his, pressing tight - _life lines,_ she thought, imagining she could feel the grooves in Han's skin against hers.

"So," she said dryly, "your mother died while you were in prison."

She closed her eyes.

"Mine did, too," she said tiredly.

Han blinked, straightening his head. He held her hand comfortably, considering that.

"We're not that different," he said. "Hate to break it to ya," he drawled.

Leia laughed, though it was muffled in his sleeve. She reached up to squeeze his arm with her other hand, and he thought it felt nice.

"Leia, you really think your parents would want you to be alone today? Miserable?" he ventured finally.

Leia closed her eyes. She shook her head.

"They wouldn't," she agreed. "I know that. I can't, I just," she sighed. "I can't - help it; I don't want to be at a party. I don't care if other people are happy. I just...don't want to be reminded that I'm not."

She licked her lips.

"Don't you ever feel that way?"

"Sure," Han said. "Why are you talking to me?" he asked abruptly. "Uh, confiding?"

"I _don't know_ ," Leia said sharply.

She pulled away, and his reaction was sudden; instinctive. He turned and caught her hand again, his other palm going to her shoulder, holding her in place. He reached up to touch her face. Leia's eyes widened, and he pulled his hand back, afraid of spooking her.

"No, don't," he started tensely. "Don't - look, don't stop talkin', okay? I'll listen. Don't...run away," he said awkwardly.

"Where would I run?" Leia asked. "This is my bunk."

"Right, yeah," Han mumbled. "Don't...kick me out."

She swallowed hard, and shrugged.

"You don't talk," she blurted.

Han's brow furrowed. His lips pursed, and his expression was such a perfect definition of confusion, that Leia laughed through the ever-present tears that seemed to be in her eyes tonight. They rolled down her face, and Han watched them.

"You don't gossip," she amended hoarsely. "I've never heard you say something behind someone's back. It's always loud. It's always to their face. Even if it's mean," she said, "or scandalous." She cleared her throat. "You don't even talk about girls," she said, her face flushing. "Other enlisted, they brag about...conquests. You just...you always talk about yourself."

"Maybe that's 'cause I'm a virgin," Han said, deadpan.

Leia snorted, and Han grinned at her, raising her eyebrows.

"What, you don't think that's possible, Your Worship?"

Leia gave that laugh of derision again.

"Don't go makin' fun of me," he ordered. "You're not s'pose to judge - "

Leia looked at him, blanching.

"Han, I - I'm sorry, I didn't - _what?"_ she asked, exasperated, distracted suddenly. "You're - what?" she seemed entirely confused by the concept. " _Are_ you?"

Taking pity on her, Han slowly shook his head, smirking. She shoved at his elbow, her heart pounding, and let out a harsh breath, shaking her head.

"Han," she snapped his name in mumbled reprimand.

He stared at her pink blush, grinning, and then let the smile fade a little, turning towards her. She braced a hand on the desk. He touched the back of it carefully. He reached up to gently pad her tears with the tips of his fingers, and Leia closed her eyes, and flinched, but let him.

"Thought you didn't like me talkin' 'bout myself," he said gruffly. "You think I'm arrogant."

"You are arrogant," Leia whispered. "But the only person anyone has a right to talk about is themselves, in most cases," she said, biting her lip, "and if you don't talk about anyone else, then if I - talk to you," she trailed off for a moment, and took a deep breath. "It seems like - I feel like - you won't talk about...me."

About what she'd said, about how vulnerable she was. It didn't matter that Han was irritating, and deliberately sought to rile her up most of the time, he was still her friend, and perhaps closer than Luke, though she kept a thicker wall between herself and Han than she did between herself and Luke, for subconscious reasons that she physically understood but was emotionally incapable of addressing, right now. From a purely animal standpoint she was feverishly attracted to Han, a fact she'd known early on, and an incongruous emotion that seemed normal, and natural, and yet gave her aches of guilt, because she didn't think she should be able to feel that when there was so much grief and loss that needed attention. She was too acutely aware of the close quarters around her and the perils of a lost reputation to do anything about it, and as for anything else - she was too numb, just too numb, for anything else.

"Besides," Leia said crisply, "your arrogance is a defense-mechanism."

She said it so effortlessly, and yet Han felt like he'd just been given a dressing down by a higher being, felt almost as exposed as if she'd stripped him naked and frankly assessed his physique. He stared at her, his eyes wide, and she boosted herself up, sitting on the desk. She hugged herself, running her arms over her shoulders as if she were cold.

"It is not," Han tried, narrowing his eyes.

Leia looked at him curiously, matter-of-fact.

"Yes, it is," she retorted gently. "You want people to like you, so you act like you don't care. Then it doesn't matter if they don't. Or it appears it never mattered to you."

Han opened his mouth, and closed it.

"Thanks for the psychoanalysis," he grumbled dryly.

"Hmm," Leia murmured absently.

Han shifted his weight. He turned, and leaned on the desk, staring at the wall, his forearms bearing down on the metal. Leia sat next to him, her head bowed, staring down at her lap - facing forward. He cleared his throat.

"You like me?" he asked, wincing at himself as he proved her point.

Leia twisted her hands in her lap, and parted her lips, looking up, and far away.

"Yes, Han. I like you," she soothed quietly.

He smiled, satisfied, and looked down at his palm. Leia turned and watched him, focusing on the lines in his skin.

"You feelin' a little better, Princess?" he asked.

Leia did not answer for a moment. She looked at him a while longer, and lifted her head, staring intently at his profile.

"May I see your hand?" she asked.

Han turned, arching his brows. He straightened up a little, cocked his hip against the desk, and held his hand out. She took it, and turned it over, palm up, her thumbs pressing into his skin, leaving little white patches that quickly reddened when she softened her touch. She compressed her lips, looking at the maze of designs, thinking of parlor games and Alderaanian folk tales. She touched a spot on his palm, and turned one of her own hands over, staring at them.

"My mother called these marks life lines," she said. "She used to," Leia broke off, looking at hers and Han's palms.

Han had a sloping, crooked v-like shape in the middle of his palm. It mirrored Leia's - if she'd placed her palm against his, they'd align, hers just inside his due to the size difference. Leia curled her palm in tightly, squeezing her nails into her own skin.

"It doesn't matter," she said huskily. "It's meaningless."

She held her hand tightly against her abdomen. Breha used to say - when she found a person with a life line that matched hers, it meant their paths in life were the same. That their souls -

Leia scraped her lip with her teeth. She closed her eyes, and tried to bite back sobs.

"I miss them," she moaned. "I miss them so - much," she choked out.

Han did not expect her to turn towards him, almost limp, draping herself on him - or at least he didn't think he did, but his arms were there catching her before he realized he'd made the decision to do it. Her head landed right against his shoulder, and he stepped closer, his jaw tightening. His embrace was loose and hesitant for a while, until Leia wrapped an arm around his neck tightly, and then it became a real embrace, with him holding her half off the desk, his eyes fixed on the wall behind her.

He ducked his head, and rested his temple against her forehead.

Leia curled in closer, because she knew he wasn't going to talk about her later, wasn't going to go running his mouth to anyone else. She didn't have much faith in her mother's beloved, girlish superstitions, but in a very real sense, she did think of Han as a life line, something that tethered her to the present, if only because he could make her laugh, and that was an impossible task. If their souls were meant to walk the same path, one of these days -

\- it make make the days less hard.

* * *

 _-alexandra_

 _story #370_


End file.
